


A Spoonful of Sugar

by salakavala



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Modern Thedas, with magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8276515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salakavala/pseuds/salakavala
Summary: Bull gets sick. His neighbour gets sick of Bull's sickness and decides to take the matter into his own hands.Or, Dorian cares under all that bluster.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This might be the beginning of a one-shot series in this same universe, but we'll see. So far it's standing alone. Enjoy!  
> (Any feedback is appreciated, as I'm a rookie writer in this fandom, and finding the right 'voice' for the characters is still well underway.)

Bull wasn't often ill – came with being a qunari, strength not only in muscles but in immunity system as well – but when he was, it was like with everything else with him: nothing left halfway. When Bull caught a cold, he caught a cold.

It had started with a stuffy nose, the morning after he'd spent the night guarding that Franderel's estate. The guy was Denerim's second most hated politician, but still some smartass had cared to tip him about Denerim's lead thief being after his private collection, and Franderel had hired Bull's security team for the expected date. Franderel had a reputation of a bit of an asshole, and after spending the night in drafty, humid, cold cellars of his estate, guarding apparently some blank fucking vellum instead of the real thing, Bull couldn't say he disagreed. His team was the best in Denerim, so hiring the Chargers to guard a false target was fucking insulting. That was the problem of the rich people – they were always too paranoid to trust anyone but their own. The joke was on Franderel, though: he had entrusted his treasures with his own guards, but they had later all been discovered unconscious. Most of the irreplaceable artefacts had been stolen.

At least Bull's team had kept the vellums safe.

But when Bull had returned to his cheap flat and crashed the bed, he had felt more tired than he usually did after a job, and when he had woken up, it was with a sore throat, a stuffed nose, and a crappy mood. Grim and Dalish had brought him fruits that first day, when he had called the Chargers to inform of his unfit condition for their next job, and Krem, never one to miss a chance to nag at him, had popped for a visit near the evening. It hadn't been a bad day, all considered, but during the night Bull discovered that he had developed a cough, too. Every deeper inhale left him coughing his throat raw, and it kept Bull awake the better part of the night.

The thing about hardly ever getting sick was that when he actually got sick, Bull had no particular tricks to quicken the recovery. Usually he just sort of rolled with it, stayed at home binge watching crappy reality TV-series that they only showed in that time of day when most people were at work, and generally relied on just sleeping it off. It always worked, eventually, though Stitches would sigh and mix up some of his herbal drinks for Bull whenever he was in town.

But Stitches wasn't in town now because the Chargers had a job in Redcliffe, and after the second night spent coughing his lungs out, Bull had to admit that perhaps reality TV and ordered dwarven fast food weren't the best way to cure sickness. He'd have to call Rocky out on that lie.

Apparently he wasn't the only one of that opinion, because on the third day there was a ring on Bull's doorbell, and when Bull answered the door, he discovered his next-door neighbour behind it. The 'Vint Next Door, or, Dorian Pavus, which was about all that Bull knew about him. Was a feat he'd got as much as the name; he had first seen Dorian about two weeks after he'd begun suspecting that the flat next to his wasn't empty any more. He had bumped into Dorian in the corridor, and had practically had to pull introductions out of him. Either the guy wasn't big on a one-eyed qunari, or qunari in general, or then he avoided all their neighbours in equal measure.

Which was why it was a bit of a surprise that the guy was standing at his door now. “Oh,” Bull said. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Dorian answered. “I'm- well, I'm not entirely sure that you remember me, but I'm Dorian Pavus.”

“Sure do. The 'Vint next door.”

Dorian frowned like he wasn't sure if he was being insulted or not, and Bull shrugged.

“Well.” The 'Vint shifted his weight from one leg to another, only a little. He had a plastic bag in his hand, and it rustled with the movement. “I was wondering, actually, if I could come in.”

In all honesty Bull, for once, wasn't up to much company, but Dorian had been his neighbour for nearly two months, and in all that time he'd barely managed to glimpse the man a handful of times. No shame in admitting he was a little curious. Besides, turning pretty guys like Dorian from his door without a reason was not what Bull believed in. “I don't mind,” he said, letting Dorian walk in. “But a fair warning, got a bit of a cold at the moment.”

Dorian turned to look at him and frowned just a little, just enough for the barest wrinkle to form between his brows. “I'm well aware. In fact, that's why I'm here.”

That took Bull by surprise. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Dorian looked around in Bull's living-room, noticed the striped blanket and the disposable fast food plate on the sofa, and a pile of used handkerchiefs on the coffee table, and wrinkled his nose in distaste. Or then he just disliked the sofa. It was an old thing, Bull admitted, but the faded green and brown had grown on him. At least it was comfy.

“You may not be aware,” Dorian said, “but your cough has remained rather persistent for the last three days, and the walls in this building are barely thicker than paper.” He crossed his arms and looked up at Bull. “What I'm saying is that you quite successfully keep me up at night, and, as it seems you're not taking care your yourself, I have to do it.”

Well, that was just sweet. Bull didn't even have the heart to jab at the obvious openings like keeping Dorian up at night – because he would, keep Dorian up, in more ways than one if Dorian were willing – so he settled for a grin. “Aww.”

“For the greater good of the entire building,” Dorian explained firmly. “Maker knows it might collapse the next time you fall into one of your coughing fits. And I'd very much like to sleep at night instead of listening to your thundering on the other side of the wall.”

Bull raised his brows. “Yeah, must be hard. Lucky you're not the one doing the thundering.”

Dorian seemed to falter a little, at that. “I- fair point. Well.” He turned around, hands on his hips, and Bull used the moment to wipe his nose. “Where's your kitchen?” the 'Vint asked, despite already walking towards it. Bull followed him, still kind of trying to wrap his head around the fact that his next-door neighbour, whom he didn't even _know_ , had just shown up to – and these were Dorian's words – take care of him? It was pretty odd.

Pretty sweet of him, too.

“So,” Bull said when Dorian placed his bag on the counter and looked around for something. “What, uh, are you gonna do?”

Apparently not finding what he wanted, Dorian grabbed a kettle from the stove and inspected it, then frowned at Bull. “ _You_ are going to go to bed and remain there, if you ever want to recover,” he uttered.

Okay, there was no way Bull was letting _that_ opening slip. He rasped a laughter. “Bossy. I like that.”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Dorian swore, and Bull supposed he should be grateful for not getting hit by a kettle, though looked like it had been a close thing. “I only meant that you're making it worse by running around. Don't you qunari know that one's supposed to rest while ill?”

“Dunno. You 'Vints probably think you're supposed to rest all days long.”

Bull was a bit surprised when Dorian smiled instead or taking his words as an attack. It made his moustache twitch with the movement of his lips, and Bull had to make an effort not to smile; it looked a little funny. “Only if we're rich and can afford it,” Dorian said. “So I know what I'm talking about.”

An altus, then, from the rich upper class of Tevinter. What was a guy like that doing in the cheaper end of Denerim?

Dorian put the kettle on and unloaded his bag: cayenne pepper, ginger, lemon, and honey. “What's that?” Bull asked.

“For tea,” Dorian explained, like it was obvious. He held up the ginger. “Do you have a grater?”

Bull supplied. Dorian got to work.

Bull coughed. “So. A 'Vint, huh?” It wasn't an issue. Krem was a 'Vint.

Dorian glanced at him over his shoulder. “I certainly hope you're not going to accuse me of being a maleficar, or something equally unflattering.”

Bull took a moment to ponder what kind of guy would refer to being accused of blood magic as 'unflattering'. Dorian took that moment to draw his own conclusions. “Ah. I had rather hoped that you living in the South meant we wouldn't have to debate politics or discuss any... restrictions, of magic.”

Yeah, a valid concern, maybe; the saarebas were tightly watched in Par Vollen, even if the mouth-sewing and the shackling wasn't technically practised any more. The saarebas did have to wear magic-restricting wristbands, though, even now.

Also, Dorian was a mage. Of course he was, if he was an altus.

“Nah,” Bull said, because Denerim was a long way from Seheron. “I'm cool with magic.”

“Good,” Dorian said and began slicing the lemon. The water in the kettle boiled, and he switched off the heat, poured the water into a mug that he had found on the counter, and dumped the grated ginger and a lemon slice in it. Bull didn't say anything, but when Dorian opened the jar of honey he saw that it was a previously unopened pack. Same with the cayenne. Pretty thoughtful of someone who'd never really talked to Bull to go shopping for him. As Dorian was fussing with the honey and pepper, Bull took the time to ponder some more what kind of guy his neighbour actually was, beside pretty and not a maleficar.

He didn't get far. Dorian added some pepper in the mug, and Bull said, “So, you're not gonna try and heal me with magic then?”

“No,” Dorian said, like 'yes' would have even been a real option. “I rather intend to stick to traditional methods. To be honest, healing magic isn't my forte – my talent lies in the art of necromancy.” Then, as an afterthought, “I'm afraid any major attempts in the former would quickly result in the need of the latter.”

“Uh,” said Bull, and Dorian calmly stirred the mug with a spoon like he hadn't just said anything remotely terrifying. Bull cleared his throat. “Thanks, Dorian, but I think I'm good. It's the thought that counts and all.”

“Nonsense,” said Dorian, tossed the spoon into the sink and thrust the mug at Bull. “I did say I'll stick to the traditional methods. Besides, magic isn't really used on a mere common cold. As a matter of fact, my mother is an apt healer. The body needs to go through the basic sicknesses in order to build up strength and resistance, she'd always say whenever I managed to get sick as a child and demand to be healed at once. Now, if you take more complex things, like poison or wounds so subtle you won't even notice them until you bleed to death – that's what she truly excels at.”

“Right,” Bull said and decided not to clarify whether that meant excelling at removing or inflicting said poisons and wounds. It was Tevinter, after all. Maybe knowing how to poison someone was the norm.

Dorian nodded at the mug in Bulls hands. “Do drink that. I have no interest to poison you if that's what you're worried about.”

“Hey, it's not me who always takes extra care to avoid running into his neighbours in the hallway.”

For a moment Dorian looked like Bull had caught him smearing dog shit all over Bull's doorbell. (And Bull knew that look – that's how he'd met Skinner, though it had turned out she had picked his door by mistake.)

But Dorian rebuilt his façade quickly, all innocence. “Me? I'd never!”

“Sure thing. You just happen to always open your door some five seconds after I've closed mine.”

Dorian crossed his arms again – looked a little lost without anything to fuss with – and clicked his tongue. “Such paranoia.”

“Says the 'Vint who just told that his mother excels at poisons.”

“Careful, or I might try my hand at healing magic, after all.”

“Shit, right, I'll shut up.”

Dorian arched his neat eyebrows. “I almost feel like I should get insulted by that.”

“Hey, you admitted yourself that you're shit at it!”

“Which is why I said almost.” And Dorian smiled, really smiled at Bull so that the corners of his eyes creased. It lasted only for a moment, but now that Bull had seen it, he saw the stark difference between this smile and the reserved ones that he'd been getting so far without even realising how controlled they were. He had to nearly bite his tongue to not let the 'Wow' slip out of his mouth – he wasn't sure Dorian would appreciate it. But damn if Bull wasn't going to try and see what it'd take to coax that smile out again.

“Well,” Dorian said. “Don't let the tea get cold.”

“Oh, right.” Bull sniffed the steaming drink, the mug nice and warm in his hands. Unsurprisingly, he smelt nothing, but it tickled his nose nonetheless. “Thanks.” He took a tentative sip. “Mm, good.”

“I'll leave these here.” Dorian gestured at the remaining ingredients. “I know it doesn't taste like regular tea, but it's good for you. Helps with the...” He waved his hand before his face. “And the pepper adds a pleasant kick to it.”

“Yeah.” Bull hadn't seen anyone in Ferelden or Orlais make the tea like that, so maybe it was a 'Vint thing. But now that he had had a taste of the spicy version, he wondered how he hadn't discovered it earlier. He'd have to ask Krem about it.

“Well,” Dorian said again. He kept his arms crossed. “I'll be on my way, then. Sorry to have bothered you, but- Well. Do get better.”

He didn't move, though. Probably mostly because Bull wasn't moving either, from where he was blocking the way to the kitchen door. Because there was no damn way Bull was going to let Dorian leave if he thought _sorry_ was what he should say after being so nice to a near stranger, neighbour or not.

“Thanks, Dorian,” Bull said, keeping his eye on Dorian until the 'Vint met his gaze and hopefully saw that Bull meant it.

“Don't mention it,” Dorian answered with a flick of his wrist. “For the general good and all that, you understand.”

“Right. You know what else would be for the general good?”

Dorian looked suspicious. Bull grinned. “If we'd make you a mug of this, too, and then watch TV and comment on the crap it shows. Or just talk.”

The suspicion disappeared from Dorian's face. Instead he looked fucking _stricken_ , like he'd fully expected to get kicked out as soon as he was done with the tea.

“Just talk?” Dorian repeated, and suddenly he looked so guarded and disbelieving and hopeful all at the same time that it hurt to look at him.

“Yeah. If you want.” Bull shrugged, but smiled. “Can be some other day too if you don't have the time now, but if you're willing to risk my cough bugs, I wouldn't mind the company.”

“Well.” Dorian uncrossed his arms only to cross them again in the lack of anything better to do. “I suppose I could stay a moment. To make sure you actually make an effort to get better.”

“Great,” Bull said, face spreading into a wide grin, and Dorian smiled. It was a careful thing, Dorian's smile, and a little fragile, but it was real.

Then Bull didn't see Dorian's smile for quite some time, because two days later Dorian caught cold and vehemently blamed it on Bull. Was probably right, too, but it didn't matter. Completely worth it.

X

 


End file.
